Unintended Consequences - By Stuart Woods

38





Stone was at his desk just before noon when Joan buzzed. “Dino on one.”

“Good morning, Dino.”

“If you say so.”

“You sound a little pissed off,” Stone observed.

“Our plans for the weekend have been canceled. Viv has to work.”

“The pains of employment in the private sector,” Stone said.

“It’s not all bad, she’s been assigned to Marcel’s security detail, so count on having both of us in Connecticut.”

“Good news!” Stone said.

“If you say so.”

“Don’t worry, Dino, it’s a strongly built house with thick walls. Nobody will be able to hear your pitiful cries.”

“What time?”

“We’re leaving at one. Don’t be late. And, Dino?”

“Yeah?”

“Pack—we can use the extra security.”

“Will do.” Dino hung up.

Stone buzzed Joan and asked her to warn the housekeeper that she would have a full house for the weekend and to lay in Dino’s scotch.

• • •

At a quarter to one, Stone, Dino, and Viv stood in front of his garage door. While Viv turned her back to them and surveyed the street, Stone pressed his remote control, and sunlight flooded the garage.

“Good God!” Dino said. “What is that thing?”

Stone pressed a button on his key, and both gull-wing doors opened silently, exposing the interior of the car. He and Dino walked into the garage.

“How many cows died to make this happen?” Dino asked, fingering the leather.

“A herd,” Stone replied. Stone started the car and backed up, double-parking in the best New York fashion. He got out and handed the Bentley keys to Viv. “Dino tells me you finished at the top of your tactical driving course,” he said.

Viv accepted the keys with a grin. “Did he also tell you that I finished at the top of my extreme driving class at Lime Rock?”

“He didn’t mention that, and I’m sorry you did,” Stone replied. “Just remember that the slightest ding on that car costs a fortune to repair—twenty-three coats of paint.”

“I’ll keep that in mind until I forget it,” she said, and went to back the car out of the garage.

Philip loaded their luggage into both vehicles; Viv and her two colleagues got into the Bentley, and after introducing Helga to the Bacchettis, Stone, Dino, Marcel, and Helga got into the Blaise.

“Astonishingly comfortable for four people,” Helga said.

“I insisted on that,” Marcel said. “I prefer riding in the backseat.”

Stone pressed the button lowering the gull wings, started the car, and drove to the West Side Highway. Traffic was light, and soon they were on the beautiful Sawmill River Parkway, built in the 1930s, winding north under a series of handsome stone bridges. They blew past the other traffic.

“You know,” Dino said, “Rolls-Royce used to say that at sixty miles an hour, the loudest noise was the ticking of the clock. Why do I hear wind noise?”

“We’re doing a hundred and ten,” Stone replied.

“Holy shit,” Dino muttered. “I guess you’re counting on me to use my badge when we get arrested.”

“Absolutely,” Stone said. After an hour and thirty minutes, Stone turned into his driveway in Washington, Connecticut. As they got out of the car, he reflected that he had never before made the trip in less than an hour and three-quarters.

Viv drove the Bentley in behind them and she and her crew got out. “That was one wild ride,” she said. “Why do I feel like we just robbed a bank?”

“Sorry, it was the first time I’ve driven the Blaise, and I just had to throw it around a little.”

“Has my hair turned white?” Dino asked.

“Not yet,” Viv replied, “but you’re working on it. Stone, we had a van behind us for a while, but by the time we left the Sawmill, he was so far back that he couldn’t possibly know where we went.”

“Describe the van,” Stone said.

“Black on black with very dark windows. I don’t think it was delivering anything.”

“Let’s put both cars in the garage, in case anybody drives by,” he said, and they did.

Stone’s housekeeper, Nellie, opened the front door and beamed at them. “We’re all ready for you, Mr. Barrington,” she said. “My daughter, Martha, is helping out.”

Stone handed out room assignments, and everyone went inside to get settled in.

• • •

That evening, they dined at the Mayflower Inn, widely heralded as the best country hotel in the United States, and as they left the inn after dinner to get into their cars, Viv tugged at Stone’s sleeve and nodded toward the other end of the parking lot. A black-on-black van sat there. Stone couldn’t tell if anyone was inside.

“You leave first,” Viv said. “We’ll block anyone from following you.”

Stone did as he was instructed, and five minutes after the Blaise was in his garage, Viv and her colleagues pulled into the driveway and got out.

“Any problems?” Stone asked.

Viv shook her head. “We checked out the van. It was empty, but locked, so I expect the passengers are either staying at the inn, dining there, or both. I didn’t see anyone suspicious in the dining room or bar, and believe me, I checked. They must be ordering room service.”

“Did you run the plates?” Stone asked.

“No cell service around here. I’ll call on your landline.”

“Please do.”

They went into the little library, where Nellie had a nice fire going, and settled in with a brandy.

Viv walked in a couple of minutes later. “The plates on the van belong to a 1989 Buick,” she said. “I’ve called it in to the Connecticut State Police, so their sleep will be disturbed soon.”

“Have a brandy,” Stone said. “You’re officially off duty now.”

“You talked me into it,” she said, taking a seat.

“Stone,” Marcel said, “this is a lovely house. You choose your residences well.”

“Thank you, Marcel.”

Five minutes later, Nellie came into the room. “Mrs. Bacchetti, telephone for you.”

Viv left the room and came back a couple of minutes later.

“That was the state police. The van was gone when they arrived, but they’ve issued a bulletin on it.”

“There’s no reason to believe they know where I live, so we can relax.”

They returned to their glowing fire and their brandies, which made them glow, too.

• • •

As Stone was going up to bed, Viv’s two colleagues came into the house.

“We’ve had a look around the neighborhood,” one of them said. “No sign of the black van.”

“Good,” Stone replied.

“One of us will be downstairs all night,” the man said. “We’ll do shifts.”

Everybody else went to bed.